


Giving Up Ground

by Krymera



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: A sprinkle of Foggy and Karen, Aftercare, Bisexual Matt Murdock, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fist Fights, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Hurt Frank Castle, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Kissing, M/M, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, POV Frank Castle, POV Matt Murdock, Season 2 canon-ish, Self-Hatred, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Sexual Tension, heightened senses, no beta we die like (wo)men, so does Frank, too much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krymera/pseuds/Krymera
Summary: With one jagged motion, he jams the pistol against Red's forehead just out of spite. He's tired of not being taken seriously. "I've shot you before," he points out accusingly. "What makes you think I wouldn't do it again?""Because you're a good man, Frank," Matt says quietly with an infuriating amount of gentleness.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80





	Giving Up Ground

_One batch._

_Two batch._

_Penny and dime._

Frank's finger caresses the trigger of the rifle absent-mindedly. He can smell the faint burn of the gun power smeared across his hand and taste the frigid air of the chilly night. It's refreshing, even as Frank looks down to study the motionless body splayed out across the street below.

One less asshole in the world, he thinks to himself with a scoff.

Frank lets the rifle slide through his fingers and settle into the black duffle bag below his feet. 

It takes him a minute before he realizes he's being watched. It takes two minutes for Frank to notice exactly where he's being watched from.

He zips up the duffle bag and deliberately turns so that he's facing the mirroring buildings parallel to him. For a moment, Frank considers ignoring him. He doesn't need to get involved, and tonight he doesn't want to push his luck. But it's the silence and lack of acknowledgement that spikes Frank's irritation. As if he couldn't realize Frank already knew he was there, hiding cowardly in the bleak shadows.

"You needin' something, Red? Or are you here to sulk around and give me shit about my code?" Frank finally says with a huff, promptly swinging the bag over his shoulder in one smooth motion. 

There's a pause, and Frank turns to make out the silhouette of Red's suit, horns protruding with a familiar intensity. He watches, noting the distinct demeanor of disappointment that radiates from Red's stature. Oh for fuck's sake.

He doesn't have the time for this.

Frank's grip on his duffle bag tightens, and he scoffs as the silence stretches on with no answer. Unbelievable. He moves to hop down the fire escape below him. 

There's a small shuffling noise immediately following, the soft padding of footsteps echoing across the rooftop that rings heavily in Frank's ears.

He stops, fingers wrapping around the cold unforgiving steel railings.

"You killed him," Matt states finally.

"It speaks!" Frank chortles in mockery, releasing his grip on the railing to get an eyeful of Matt walking towards him with a stiff gait. "Yeah, that tends to happen when you shoot someone in the head," he adds sarcastically and watches as Matt just stands there with a blank expression plastered across his face. 

"You didn't have to," Matt says, this time with more of an edge. "I was on my way to hand him over to the authorities myself," he continues. 

"Don't even start on your goddamn lectures, Red. Not in the mood to hear em' tonight," Frank states with a cold shrug and an exasperated grunt. "The jobs done."

"It's not _your_ job, Frank," Matt spits and Frank is taken aback. This is the most emotion he's seen from Matt in a long while. Usually he'll give him his routinely lectures, then disappear shortly after, only to pop back around for the cycle to repeat. It's annoying, but Frank has learned to tolerate it over the months. Sure, they both love to piss each other off but rarely has Frank seen Matt so riled up and asking for a fight.

So instead, Frank raises an eyebrow. "Rough night, Red?" He asks instead, opting for the safer option.

"Just tired of your bullshit," Matt counters coolly and if that doesn't make Frank heated.

"Get off your high horse," Frank replies with an equal bite of fire, carelessly throwing his duffle bag a few feet away as he closes the distance between them. His hands clench instinctively as he stares at the red tinted eyes of the Devil suit.

"Tired of my bullshit, eh?" Frank starts and grits his teeth, anger bubbling steadily under the surface of his skin. "How about the fact that I can't even get rid of assholes like him in the city without you breathing down my neck?"

"My city," the bastard reminds him with a slight raise of his lips that mimick a warning smile.

Now Frank is pissed off.

He doesn't rise to the bait though. It's clear Red isn't in his right head at the moment, and Frank's got no desire to kick his ass without reason. Despite the constant buzzing of adrenaline in his ears and the noticeable tension lined across his body, he takes a deep breath and lets out a dry sigh. 

"Tough luck, Red." 

He turns to leave.

Suddenly, there's a hand grabbing his wrist and a forceful yank as he's spun around to face Matt again. Fingers reach out and grasp the lapels of his open jacket, pulling him forward with a sharp tug. Frank stumbles.

For a moment, all he can focus on is the steady rhythm of his own breath and the emotionless figure in front of him.

"I'm taking you to the police station," Matt's voice rings out with a sudden clarity. The grip on his jacket tightens. Matt's lips press into a thin line, and Frank can see him studying his reaction. Baiting him.

"What?" Frank asks incredulously and is aware of how childish he sounds. Even for Red, this is crazy, but Frank knows that Red doesn't do idle threats and that's what makes his heart skip a beat.

"You're not deaf," Matt snaps back with a sudden ferocity, and his lip curls. "I'm tired of you killing people, Frank. I don't care what your reasons are. They're _wrong_ , no matter how you may justify it."

Frank snorts loudly and he gets a yank on his jacket in return. Ignoring the warning, he presses on. "Really? Because everytime I take a walk down the goddamn street, I can smell the stench of the scum you fight so hard to protect." There's another sharp yank on his jacket, but Frank is already past caring. "What makes their life worth more than the ones they've taken, huh Red?"

He feels the grip on his jacket loosen, and watches as Matt shifts his weight backwards and away from him. Frank already feels the immediate change in temperature and the receding warmth against the harsh frigid night. He didn't want to push Red tonight, he really didn't.

Finally, when Matt speaks, it's a simple statement masked with complete sincerity. "I'm taking you to the police station," he repeats again. 

Now that is something Frank would love to see. This time, he isn't beaten half to hell and lacking the comfort of his guns. He's not going back to that shithole, even if it means plowing right through Red. Never again does he want to be stuck inside a prison cell with anyone, much less Fisk again. The thing is, Red knows that. That's what makes Frank even more heated than he already is.

"Like _hell_ ," he spits and then laughs in disbelief. "I'm not goin' back there. If you want me in there, you'll have to drag my ass the whole goddamn way."

"That can be arranged," Matt states evenly with a small head tilt. "But I'm giving you a choice. Either you come with me—"

"Don't wanna hear it," Frank interupts and waves his hand to signal the conversation is over. "Do what you have to, Red. All I've gotta say is for your sake, you better not miss." 

"Frank—"

"You want a fight, Red?" Frank asks, tone laced with venom. "Learn to finish it."

The punch to his face is expected, and distantly, Frank knows he deserves it for purposefully antagonizing him. He can already feel the soreness spreading and knows that he'll have a pretty bruise by morning, so it's no surprise when Matt follows up with another well directed punch that lands across the same area.

Well, Frank isn't going to get his ass beat by a pansy in a Devil's outfit.

He blocks Matt's next hit with a simple counter, letting the blow hit across his forearms rather than his face again before throwing his own swing that makes contact with Matt's side. He feels the rush of air that escapes his lungs, and uses the momentary distraction to thrust his knee out and knock him across the ground.

Somehow, the asshole manages to not fall ass first against the concrete. It's a clumsy roll at best, but Matt is good at regaining his footing immediately after.

He's up there and in Frank's face, striking upwards and from the side. He's looking for an opening, Frank can tell, and it doesn't take long. Another blow collides with his nose, and he can feel the tension in his sinuses right before he starts to bleed across the dirty muddled floor. He reaches out gingerly and wipes at it with his palm, ignoring the coppery tang that soils his mouth and runs down his chin.

Not broken, but it hurt like a bitch.

It's another reason why Frank shouldn't of pushed his luck tonight. On his best days, he would say he could kick Red's ass. On his worst, well, they were pretty evenly matched. While Frank doesn't mind sparring with Red occasionally, he doesn't like the fact that Red is purposefully trying to get under his skin. Frank is no stranger to pain, but he can't say that he likes getting beat to hell by Daredevil. Then again, he was never good at making smart decisions for his own wellbeing. 

They trade blows again, this time with more intent behind them. Frank's trying to aim for the spots that will give him a chance to strike again immediately after, while Matt just seems to be pushing himself to hit whenever and wherever he can. It's the most erratic symphony Frank's ever heard, the pounding of adrenaline in his head against the landing blows that Matt makes everytime he makes contact. Their fight is downright dirty and gritty, but at least Red isn't just some asshole off the street, picking a fight for the most mundane reasons.

Another punch sends Frank reeling from the blow, forcing him to switch his tactics to blocking and defending as Matt continues his onslaught of heavy blows.

An opening gives Frank an opportunity.

He tries to uppercut, using his elbow to knock Matt's head sideways with a glancing blow. That gives him a few seconds to lash out again, this time smacking him straight in the jaw with a closed fist. Matt goes sprawling against the concrete.

His knuckles sing in pain.

Matt spits blood next to him and predictably gets back on his feet.

And the dance repeats.

It's the throbbing of his nose that spurs Frank back into action, and he feels himself grabbing Matt's arm when he sees a chance. There's a forearm suddenly at his neck, and then a knee that collides with Frank's stomach. It knocks the wind out of him, but his grip on Matt's arm is tight and vicious. He can feel him jamming his free arm right up to his throat, trying to get him to release his hold.

Well, tough luck.

He twists Matt's arm, in the exact way he's seen many fighters do, and watches as he grits his teeth and takes it. His knees hit the floor, and Frank uses the opportunity to place his other hand around the back of Matt's head to keep him there. 

Matt drops his free arm and uses it to steady his balance against the rough concrete. There's heavy breathing that mimicks the strain Frank's putting on his arm, but he ignores the slight twinge in his chest even as Red tries to relax under his grip.

"You're not taking me anywhere. If you've been having a shitty night, don't take it out on me," Frank states calmly, and it comes out a lot more softer than intended. When he gets no response, he lets his annoyance show. "Understand, Red?"

Silence.

"We can do this all day if you want," Frank says, and goddamn means it. To prove his point, he applies more pressure and watches Matt squirm.

There's a curt nod, followed by a sharp inhale. Frank eases up slightly.

That's all it takes for Matt to kick out behind him, nailing him in the knee and causing him to buckle forward. Matt wrenches free of his grip, and rolls to the side to avoid being crushed as Frank loses his balance and hits the concrete head first with an elegant _crack_.

For a moment, all Frank can hear is static in his ears. His head is spinning, and he's pretty sure he can see three Daredevil's just standing there in front of him. It would almost be laughable, had he not felt the intense throb of pain that seemed to travel everywhere across his body. Well fucking great.

He can feel Matt's gaze on him, watching. A drop of red catches Frank's eye, and he manages to glance up to see the split lip that's bleeding above him. There's already a large yellowish purple bruise that decorates his right cheek, courtesy of Frank.

God, they're both a mess, aren't they?

He can feel his body shaking as he starts to chuckle, his voice dry and heavy with exhaustion. A night with Red is never boring, that's for sure.

The thing is, Red knows Frank's limits, even despite them consistently butting heads on a regular basis. Red pushes, so Frank pushes back. That's what makes it so infuriating when Red just simply takes a shaky breath of air and turns to leave Frank alone on the rooftop.

No, no. You don't get to walk away.

Blindly, he reaches for the pistol that sits heavily on the side of his leg. The same one he used to shoot Red in the head one night when he had gotten in his way during the hunt to find out who killed his family. The weight is familiarly cold in his hand as he thumbs back the hammer with an audible click.

Matt freezes in his tracks, obviously recognizing the immediate sound.

"You don't just get to walk away," Frank slurs, tongue heavy like led in his mouth. He lifts his arm, puts Red in his sights and ignores the trembling in his hand. "I'm not your punching bag you can throw away when you're done you asshole," Frank snarls as he shakily gets to his feet. Shuffling forward, he closes the distance between him and Red, pistol clutched tightly between his fingers.

"You wouldn't shoot," Matt says but even Frank can hear the note of caution in his tone. 

"You willin' to bet your life on it?" Frank growls and deliberately takes another step forward on unstable legs. 

There's a pause. Matt's turning to face him, his head tilting and then peering in his general direction. Finally, after several moments, he exhales deeply.

"You're not going to shoot me," Matt restates with a newfound sense of confidence, looking slightly relieved.

He pushes down the cold fury pent up in his chest. With one jagged motion, he jams the pistol against Red's forehead just out of spite. He's tired of not being taken seriously. "I've shot you before," he points out accusingly. "What makes you think I wouldn't do it again?" He asks calmly, steadying his breathing even as his whole body aches.

"Because you're a good man, Frank," Matt says quietly with an infuriating amount of gentleness.

The grimace on Frank's face only grows.

He grits his teeth. Almost lazily, he pushes the pistol more firmly against Red's forehead. " _You feel it_?" He quotes mockingly from their previous rooftop scuffle with Grotto.

The familiarity of the situation has Matt immediately tensing up, but it's the look of determination across his face that makes Frank hesitate.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he couldn't pull the trigger. Everytime he looks at Red, it's an internal struggle, extinguishing the raging fire within Frank for a short period of time before it sparks back up again. In a twisted way, Red is the cooling water to his heated flames. 

His mouth is suddenly dry.

"Frank, listen—" Matt starts.

"No, no. I'm done listening," Frank says and hates the way his body betrays him as a shudder runs through his arm. Another wave of irritation only adds to his foul mood. "You better start talking, Red. What the hell is up with you tonight, huh? You get off on kicking my ass?"

" _Jesus_ , Frank," Red says and he has the balls to sound exasperated. "No, of course not. That's not what this was, I just—"

"You just what? Having a shitty night and had to take it out on me?" Frank fires back angrily. He's annoyed, not only at himself but the way Red's been acting. Sparring with him wasn't uncommon, but Red had really decided to push his boundaries tonight. 

"You want the honest answer?" Matt says, and there's a tone of desperation as he saunters closer to Frank. "Yeah, I was having a shitty night and decided to take it out on you."

"Talk about unhealthy coping mechanisms," Frank scoffs and immediately regrets it as his chest constricts tightly against the wave of pain. "You must be goddamn desperate to seek me out of all people, Red."

"Yeah, well. Better you then someone I care about," Matt replies evenly.

Well goddamn. That stings. 

It's worse than the increasing headache that Frank feels coming. His whole body is covered in sweat and shaking with exhaustion, and he's pretty sure something isn't right with the way his hand is trembling with the pistol still clutched tightly in his grasp. But hearing those words from Red? Fucking hell. He lowers the gun, more for his sake rather than Red's. 

"Alright," Frank says coolly, and he can't help but feel used as Red tilits his head to study him again like he's some damn exhibit. "Well, you got what you wanted," he continues with an edge, gesturing to his bloodied nose and knuckles. "So leave me the hell alone." 

Which is exactly the opposite of what Red does.

"Frank, you've got a concussion," Matt says clinically as his tone gets increasingly softer. He hesitates, obviously weighing the choices before him. "I've got a friend, a nurse. We can patch you up under the radar, no hospitals."

"I don't need your pity," Frank hisses and watches Red stiffin visibly against the harsh light of the overhanging yellow bulbs. "And I don't need your goddamn help." 

"For God's sake, I can— I see the way you're moving Frank. You need to have someone check you over," Matt reasons and there's a note of desperation in his voice that Frank hasn't heard before that makes his heart skip a beat.

"You have a shit way of saying sorry, Red."

"Goddammit, Frank." That's all the warning he gets before Matt is reaching out and grasping Frank's arm, yanking him forward and off balance. His weight collides against Matt's, but the hand that reaches around helps to steady him. 

"I said, I don't need your help," Frank repeats gruffly but knows the weight behind his words are lacking. 

Matt just grabs him tighter. 

It doesn't make Frank any less pissed, but he would be lying if he said he didn't take comfort in it.

They make their way down the stairs and descend into the building, the beige walls so bland it makes Frank's head spin even more than it already is. Every turn makes him sicker to his stomach.

Frank had specifically chosen this apartment building to use as his temporary post. From the rooftop, it had the best view of the city below, and the perfect area to be able to set up his sights and find his target easily. The interior, however, was lacking. Most of the people living here were low income families, forced to shack up here if they valued some kind of roof over their head. It wasn't fair, but Frank wasn't surprised. The whole world had gone to shit as far as he was concerned.

"I bet these stairs were a pain in the ass," Matt says conversationally as they shuffle across the dirty carpeting to follow the never ending stairwell. 

"You _think_?" Frank snorts, but there's no real hostility in his tone. "Honestly Red, don't you have better things to be doing?"

"Yeah," Matt offers with a breathless laugh as he readjusts his grip on Frank's shoulder. "I'm supposed to be attending Bradley's ninth birthday party tonight. Or is it his tenth? I can never remember," he grouses with fake despair.

"Sarcasm doesn't fit you, Red," Frank grumbles. "Told you twice, I don't need your help."

"And I didn't ask for your opinion on the matter. So drop it, Castle."

Well Frank can't really argue with that. 

The descend down the following flight of stairs is excuriating. He feels like he's in an endless maze, constantly seeing the exact damn railings and the exact damn carpeting all the way down. Frank is painfully aware of what he might've had to go through, had Red not forced his hand in the matter and practically manhandled him down the stairs himself.

It's the echoing footsteps of them making their way down that finally makes Frank look at Red. His vision is still slightly distorted, but his gaze finally focuses on those full, round lips that look even more red with the dried blood coating where he had split it. Idly, Frank wonders if he's ever even kissed another man with those perfectly shaped lips. 

Get a grip, Castle. He's made it clear he doesn't care about you, he berates himself.

But inside his chest, Frank's heart increases just a fraction. A mere fantasy that will never play out, but a guy can wonder.

Matt purses his lips, so Frank decides to speak first to interrupt his own thoughts.

"Were you really going to bring me to the police station?" Frank asks tiredly, and this time he's genuinely curious. It's hard to tell with a martyr like Red, but even Frank knows he draws the line sometimes.

"No," Matt says after a beat. "I wasn't."

"Figures," Frank manages with a huff and he can't help but feel played. "Should've called your bluff a long time ago, Red." 

There's a short rumble of a laugh before Matt asks, "were you really going to shoot me?" 

Internally, Frank snorts. It's a simple question, and a simple question usually has a simple answer. But with Red, nothing is goddamn simple.

"No," Frank decides and his voice is barely above a whisper. His heart pounds but it's steady in his chest, and suddenly he's aware of how close and warm Red is against him. "Though, piss me off enough and I would," he deflects from the increasing tension between them.

There's a rush of hot air, and Frank realizes it's from the asshole trying not to laugh. It's futile though since he can still feel the low rumble of vibrations from Matt's chest and the curved smile forming.

Goddamn him.

"Shut up, Red."

"I haven't said anything, Frank," Matt says oh so innocently with a shit eating grin plastered across his face, even as another short chuckle escapes his lips.

"Just get me down the damn stairs you prick." 

And so Matt does.

They only get a few sideway glances from some of the junkies that loiter the bottom of the stairwell, but Frank can tell they're too stoned out of their mind to care.

They make it out of the building, to which Matt steers them into a sharp turn that leads them to a darkened closed off alleyway. The air is cool, minty even, as Frank breathes it in greedily. God, he hates the stench and stuffiness of those apartments.

"How's your head?" Matt finally asks quietly, studying Frank again with that sly head tilt.

"I've had worst," Frank grumbles in response even as a wave of nausea washes over him with a sudden intensity. Abruptly, he's wrenching free of Red's grip, his knees slamming against the concrete as he leans forward and vomits his last meal.

"Frank," Matt says softly, almost questioningly. And if there's one thing that Frank won't tolerate, it's the pity in his voice.

"M' fine," Frank murmurs and hates the way his voice cracks. "Just need some rest..." 

Another wave of nausea rushes through him and he's suddenly keeling over again, dry heaving. The contractions make his fingers tremble uncontrollably against the rough texture of the uneven pavement.

There's a rush of air against the back of his neck, and he can feel the light brush of warm fingertips that sweep across with gentle circles that leaves a roaring fire in its wake. Red is _touching_ him, trying to comfort him.

He feels his pulse quicken. Matt stops.

"Do it again," Frank whispers and realizes how desperate he sounds. He meets the suits red glossy eyes and notes the way Matt's lips are slightly parted, sucking in air. 

"Touch me." 

Still, Matt hesitates.

"Red," Frank calls softly and watches through tired eyes as Matt finally raises his arm.

Slowly, fingers slide across his jaw. They're light, teasing touches, but each stroke sends electricity pumping through Frank's veins. The fingers descend downwards, stopping briefly at his collarbone as they slide gently back and forth, mimicking the pattern of stripes.

It feels strangely nice. 

A firm hand pushes against Frank's chest. He gives in, letting himself be propped up against the uneven bricked wall. 

With steady ministrations, Matt pinpoints all the bruises and the small cuts that paint Frank's body. One cut in particular makes Frank jerk away out of instinct, the sting lingering like a bitch even as Matt pulls back as if he'd been slapped.

"Nothing's broken," Matt informs him with a curt nod, suddenly looking uneasy. "The cuts aren't that deep either. They won't need stitches," he reports.

"Must be my lucky day," Frank replies wryly.

"Yeah, someone must be watching over you," Matt says with a scoff. "A guardian angel perhaps."

"More like a guardian devil," Frank offers with a snort, followed by a wince and a sharp exhale as he feels the increasing throb of pain flash across his side. 

For a couple seconds, Red just watches him intensely.

Frank lets him, not bothering to mask the obvious signs of exhaustion that hang over him like a personal raincloud.

"I shouldn't of pushed you tonight," Matt murmurs finally with his jaw clenched, swallowing hard. His expression hardens, and Frank recognizes the contempt that's written all over Matt's face. The self hatred that reflects so purely in his body language. 

Something in Frank's chest tightens.

"It was selfish and impulsive of me to do that," Matt continues with the gentle baritone, voice dropping into a low whisper. "I'm sorry, Frank."

For once, he's speechless.

"If you still want me to leave, I'll go. You won't hear from me or see me again. I promise."

There's a pause. Frank reaches out with his trembling arm and watches as Matt lets out a sharp breath when he makes contact. The contrast from Frank's cold fingers and Matt's heated skin is alarmingly comforting. Gently, his fingers run across the ridges of his mask and cheek. The dark red lining around the horns and the red tinted eyes stand out predominantly against the intense purple of the bruise that littered his jaw. The bruise that Frank had given him.

Time to test Red's boundaries.

Using his thumb, he digs his fingernail under the rim and gently pushes up, observing as it quietly clicks and shifts, giving way. Matt's mouth forms a thin line and he swallows hard.

It's not an outright no, so Frank cautiously positions his hand to lift it off.

It's the subtle flinch and stiffness of Red's body language that has him pulling himself back and away. Even he is aware of the unsaid boundaries between them, but right now, Frank desperately wants to be selfish.

"What I want," Frank says carefully, "is you, Red."

Matt's breath stutters for a moment, and bashfully he lowers his head, clearly flushed. If anything, the pinkness of his cheeks are exaggerated by the intensity of his red suit. Frank's always loved his choice of color.

"Okay," Matt says breathlessly and looks up to meet Frank's piercing gaze. There's a certain tenderness in the way he's watching him. "Then I'm yours for tonight," he says softly with parted lips.

"And tomorrow?" Frank asks with a small quirk of his lips, trying to mask the quickening of his racing heart and the look of what he could only describe as pure delight.

"That depends on you," Matt states with a nervous smile. "Could you handle me for that long?"

"C'mon, Red," Frank laughs. "Of course."

"Lectures and all?" Matt offers, and Frank can almost imagine him raising his eyebrow as a challenge. Then he starts laughing at Frank's scowl, which in turn, makes him scowl even harder.

" _Jesus_ , don't you start," Frank warns but there's no real heat behind his threat. In fact, he starts to laugh alongside Matt. 

His laughter reaches Frank's ears like a soft melody, and suddenly he is very aware of the high he's riding with Red. When they're both quiet and the awkwardness of their situation starts to grow, he feels his hand reach out again. This time he avoids Red's mask and instead settles for cupping his face. 

There's a long pause where Frank just stares.

His gaze drifts from the light stubble lined across Red's jaw, and those round full lips. Almost instinctively, his thumb moves on its own to catch on Matt's bottom lip. 

A little bit of pressure encircles his wrist, and his gaze shifts down to the gloved hand clasped around it. Matt gives him another smile and lets out a shaky breath. "Let's get you fixed up first, alright?"

"Fine," Frank drawls and tries to hide the disappointment layered in his tone as he drops his arm away. "Lead the way, Red," he says as he gets to his feet.

There's a flash of white — Red's genuine smile — and then suddenly he's sprinting and kicking off the brick wall, using his momentum to land safely on top of the green dumpster with a soft rattle. In one solid motion, he's pulling himself up and onto the fire escape with vigor, stopping briefly to glance down below where Frank is standing in disbelief.

"Fuckin' showoff," Frank mutters under his breath and ignores the way the corners of his mouth curve slightly upwards.

Matt just smiles in return.

**Author's Note:**

> I was rewatching Daredevil the other day, and this idea suddenly had my fingers flying across the keyboard, trying to write it all down. Between school and motivation, it's been hard to find time to write but I'm pleased to present to you this longer, new story developing and showcasing Matt and Frank's relationship. :)
> 
> Thank you to all the kind comments. They mean a whole lot. Please note, the rating for this story may change.
> 
> ALSO, IM LOOKING FOR A POSSIBLE EDITOR WHO HAS THE TIME AND IS WILLING TO REVIEW MY WORK BEFORE ITS SUBMITTED. Find me under krymera on instagram!


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